


drowning is the only way to survive

by DummyScreensAndMagazines



Series: woman inherits the earth [3]
Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Gen, There's a lot of blood sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DummyScreensAndMagazines/pseuds/DummyScreensAndMagazines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the moment Claire Dearing dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shed the mortal coil

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows directly after we lonely queens. There's a lot of blood mentioned but I don't know if it warrants the graphic violence warning. I put it up anyway. Most of the next chapter is written so that'll be up soon.

In a matter of hours, her entire world collapses. It’s a blur of running and fear and Claire knows that the moment she allows herself to stop and think, everything will come back with perfect clarity. She doesn’t want to remember, not when her nephews are still warm and covered in blood beside her and Owen’s head is in her lap as he coughs up blood. It’s only a matter of time before Claire settles down in a small dark space and cries. She keeps pushing the building mania down to deal with it later.

Right now she needs to be strong because she refuses to leave this island alone. She can’t leave here alone, she can’t. For all that she is solid and singular, she’s never been truly alone. For everything and one personal she’s pushed aside, there’s been another two more impersonal ones waiting in the sidelines.

So she presses her filthy hands against the claw mark across his stomach in an effort to keep everything inside, ignoring the voice going on and on and hygiene and wound care and infections. Right now, trying to keep this man alive is more important.

“I know it hurts but help will be here soon. Lowery’s still here and I’m sure he’s calling in for help right now.” Why did she throw her radio away? She should’ve kept it, if only to scream at someone else right now. She doesn’t know if Owen still has his, or if it’s been crushed by the debris surrounding them. There’s blood, so much blood, and everything she touches slips away. Even if he has it, it’ll be slippery and she’ll have to let go of Owen to get it. She’s not sure if she can let anything else go.

One of Owen’s hands, trembling, lands heavily on her wrist. He laughs or coughs, she can’t tell, before smiling up at her with red stained teeth. “It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt.” That’s bad, isn’t it? He should be writhing in pain but he’s just staring up at her, eyes glassy, with his teeth bared. It’s too aggressive to be a grin. Claire just presses her hands harder against his stomach, fingers trying to hold everything together. It’s so slippery.

She remembers being a little girl, crouched on a river bank as she cupped water in her hands. No matter what she tried, it always slipped away. But that’s just water. It’s never supposed to be a person, especially not one she knows and could maybe admit she’s more than a little fond of. She’s not supposed to be kneeling in a puddle of blood that keeps growing larger while more is coughed up on the remains of her favorite suit.

Owen’s head flops to the side and he goes pale, so pale. Claire can’t help but laugh because, ha, he’s paler than her! She never thought she’d see the day. But his breath is coming faster and his hands are scrabbling at her arms ineffectively. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, Claire, I’m sorry.” He’s trying to take deeper breaths but he coughs each time. It’s all Claire can do to keep everything together. So she whispers her forgiveness. It wasn’t his fault. She should’ve spent more time with her nephews, should’ve kept them closer. So she whispers.

It’s silent. There’s nothing but her harsh gasps in the morning sun. Claire bends until her forehead is pressed against Owen’s temple. He’s still so warm. It’s quiet. So quiet.

Claire screams.

When her throat is raw, she gently moves the body off of her and slowly stands. The living are more important than the dead, they have to be. Right now, there’s one other person alive on the island she knows of and she will see him safely off.

Every step she takes is slow and steady, hands out to the side in case she trips. Moving is necessary, no matter how tired she is. There’s an ache building in her calves and ankles that she’s been ignoring for a while now. Her steps are steady, though, and she wears heels more than any other shoe. If there is something she must trust her body to do without constant monitoring, it’s walking.

She takes careful steps, counting each one so she doesn’t have to think of anything else. It’s almost soothing if she forgets tacky feeling of drying blood and the ache of loss. It’s strange only hearing the click of her heels and the eerie rustling of a breeze sweeping through the emptiness. It’s worse once she’s inside, because now she’s alone with the impersonal hum of the lights. She’s never noticed how strange they sounded without the bustle of other people around. It sounds…wrong. There’s something wrong here but she isn’t sure what. 

The unease only builds during her ride up to the security room. When the elevator doors slide open the darkness doesn’t help. Lowery wouldn’t have shut the lights off unless he was done. If he had already left, they would’ve run into each other earlier. Claire had taken the most direct route and if Lowery was as clever as he pretended to be, he would’ve done the same. Her hands grope along the wall for the light switch as she stares into the darkness. So much can be hidden in the darkness.

The lights flicker on with an aggressive hum. At first she sees nothing and sighs in relief and disappointment. That’s when a streak of red catches her attention. It’s not a lot, not compared to what she saw earlier, but enough that she should be feeling something other than resignation.

She strides towards the puddle and stumbles to a stop. There had still been a kernel of hope that there was someone, anyone, that was still here. She crouches beside Lowery’s head, head wounds always bleed a lot so he could still be alive, to take his pulse. Nothing. Her hand hovers above his lips waiting for the wet dampness of breath. Nothing. She finally kneels beside him, avoiding the puddle, and presses her ear against his chest. Nothing.

Well then. There’s nothing here, not for Claire. There’s nothing anywhere for her.

Claire spent her life molding herself into the strongest, most intimidating person she could. She was brutal and unyielding early on with her decisions so she wasn’t thought of as the ‘pretty little woman who should fetch the men a coffee’. But, most of all, she had to smart. Twisting situations so she ended up on top with no friends, but the respect of those she worked with had to be enough for her. It _is_ enough for her. Claire Dearing never needed friends because she was going places, and only death or a traumatic brain injury would stop her. 

Karen had always gotten by with a sweet gentleness covering an iron spine. Surrounded by men who were either too lazy, too entitled, or too stupid to do what needed to be done, Claire never had that luxury.

Now everything she had ever worked for was gone. Everyone who could be blamed were dead or had vanished. Besides her. Mr. Masrani died in the helicopter crash and subsequent explosion. If he hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t be alive now. Hoskins was dead by velociraptor, a fitting end if she ever had to pick one. Dr. Wu had vanished with the evacuated scientists and she sincerely doubted he would step forward to take any blame. 

She has no desire to take the blame for something she had very little control over.

There’s a dark little place inside that Claire does her best to ignore. She doesn’t want to see Karen’s face when she realizes Claire didn’t bring her children back. She doesn’t want any of that despair or rage pointed at her.

Claire takes a deep breath before slowly pushing herself back up on two feet. Everything aches and she’s bone-deep tired. She’s not sure how much longer her feet can handle the heels but she’d rather deal with them instead of shattered glass. One step in front of the other and she eventually makes it to her small apartment. She toes off her heels, places them in their section of the closet, and collapses into bed. She’s not sure if everything or nothing hurts.


	2. not every grave is the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took forever. A bunch of real life stuff came up. Boo. But I'm at posting chapters two and three at the same time so at least it's complete now?

This is the day Claire Dearing dies.

She wakes up to the afternoon sun in her eyes and absolutely starving. For a moment, nothing has changed. It’s one of her rare days off and she doesn’t have to deal with anyone. Maybe she’ll call her sister or read a book. The entire day is hers.

_Please, Claire, I’m sorry._

Claire remembers everything when she sits up. Her entire body aches and her clothing is stiff with dried blood. She can’t help but be faintly disappointed that she must have ruined the mattress. There’s no way to fix it now so she strips and leaves her ruined clothing in a corner. A warm shower can’t fix her problems but she almost feels normal by the end of it. Claire has always been a silent crier so no one can prove if the liquid streaking down her face were tears or water. There’s no one left to prove herself to.

She doesn’t bother blow drying or straightening her hair once out of the shower. It’s easier to let it drip dry as she slips into the most casual clothes she can find. The jeans are old and soft. The cuffs are starting to fray but it wasn’t as if Claire tended to wear them where anyone could see her. She needs to be comfortable today. There would be a lot of manual labor.

_Oh god, I’m so sorry._

Claire pulls everything that doesn’t need to be cooked out of the fridge. She eats methodically. It’s easier than thinking. She’s surprised when there’s nothing left to eat. Still, she sighs and cleans most everything up. There’s a part of her that doesn’t really care, not when she knows she’s never returning.

Pressed into the corner of the top shelf is a cream tote she hasn’t used for years. After a while her practical side had won out and she really didn’t need more than her phone and ID card during the day. Today it’s useful again. She rolls up her second favorite all white outfit and drops in one of her lesser used pair of heels. They’re easier to run in, she thinks in muted amusement.

_It’s alright,_

Claire never realized how much a body smelled after sitting alone in the sun for hours, let alone three. She can’t deliver the bodies of her nephews so she’ll do what she can to honor them. Tarps and rope are found stashed in supply closets. She’s not sure how much time she spent moving debris and bodies until all that’s left of the night before are half dried blood streaks and three neatly wrapped bodies. There’s only smudges of blood on her clothes this time, if she doesn’t count her sneakers being semi soaked with it, and she can’t help but feel relief. If she’s lucky at least part of this outfit will be salvageable.

She leaves the bodies lined in a neat row. This time Claire has the energy for a light jog towards the control room. It would be best to get everything done before nightfall.

_It doesn’t hurt._

The last body doesn’t smell anywhere near as bad as the others had. Still, Claire is quick to wrap him up and drag him outside. The control room shouldn’t be empty and silent. She’s used to chatter and buzz of a dozen or so employees all working in tandem to keep the park running. She’s glad to leave it all behind.

Once all four bodies are neatly lined up in a row, Claire doesn’t know what to do next. Logically, she knows exactly what to do. She has to bury them. But right here is covered in concrete. The closest area with decent dirt would be paddock nine but seeking out the T-Rex is for later.

_Oh god, I’m so sorry._

She never did have a proper conversation with her nephews, so she isn’t sure what dinosaur or attraction had been their favorite. Asking Lowery, even if she had been curious, would’ve been inappropriate while they were working. Besides, actively seeking Lowery out after work had never been on any of her priority lists. That left Owen. Owen who adored but never trusted his raptors.

Only one is alive now. She’d seen it run off once the Indominus was dead. Claire doesn’t know which one it is. She doesn’t care. What matters is if it’s curious enough to go exploring the island now, or it’s scared enough to return to the only familiar territory it knows.

_Please, Claire, I’m sorry._

A glint of silver catches her eye. Abandoned by the broken amber statues is Owen’s rifle. There’s no point in just leaving it there. She checks it over before slinging it over her shoulder. There’s still some ammunition left.Claire isn’t sure how useful it’d actually be if she was attacked, but just having it around made her feel better. Better to die fighting than lying down. Claire knows she won’t die until she’s good and ready.

She’s quick is getting back to the van she had left abandoned last night. At least she left the keys in the ignition. She never had taught herself how to hotwire a car.

_It doesn’t hurt._

Moving the bodies in the back is exhausting. It isn’t until she’s been struggling to lift one up for what feels like an eternity that she sits down and thinks. 

It's oddly comforting to be problem solving. It had always been her calling. Silly little Claire and her silly little thoughts. At least her silly little thoughts made it possible to run an entire theme park.

_It’s alright._

She ends up dragging a jagged plank of wood over so she can turn it into a ramp. It’s easier now. Still, she should hurry. Nothing too dangerous has been let free if she doesn’t count the T-Rex and the velociraptor. So she hopes that they are frolicking in the jungle, pleased with their newfound freedom.

It isn’t long before everyone is stacked in the back and she’s driving towards the velociraptor paddock. It’s a quick trip and oddly serene if she ignores everything that happened in the past forty eight hours.

_Oh god, I’m so sorry._

When Claire pulls up outside the raptor enclosure, she waits to see if there’s any movement. Velociraptors are clever, clever enough that she doubts she’d ever see them coming, but she can’t spend the rest of the day sitting around in fear. Everything must be set right again.

Digging graves is hard work, hard enough that there isn’t much energy left to think. At least, she thinks to herself, I only have to dig three. Gray and Zach were too entwined to separate out fully. She wasn’t sure what belonged to who. Still, she was sure they wouldn’t mind resting together. Besides, she’ll do her best to give them every honor she can. They are all that’s left, all that she can bury.

_It doesn’t hurt._

There’s nothing for Claire to say over their open graves. She and Owen never did get along, she hadn’t seen Zach and Gray for several years before this visit, and her relationship with Lowery was strictly a working one. She knows nothing to honor them, can say nothing that would make anything of this okay and stop her from being so alone. So she says nothing as she drags the bodies to their graves and buries them as best she can.

She’s covered in dirt and sweat by the time they are all covered, the sky already turning orange and pink with the setting sun. She could shower but that would only take precious time. No, it’s fitting if it ends this way. So Claire locks herself in one of the storage rooms, changes into the white pantsuit she saves for the days she needs that extra boost of confidence and her easy to run in kitten heels, and palms a flare before stepping back outside. Her new clothes are already smudged with dirt but by the end of the night it won’t matter.

_Please, Claire, I’m sorry._

Searching for a T-Rex is fairly easy, all things considered. All she has to do is follow the growing feeling of despair, the eerie silence as birds abruptly fall quiet, and the rambling paths of giant footprints and broken plants.

It’s fitting that they find each other once night has fully fallen. Twice in twenty-four hours Claire stands tall before something bigger, meaner, and stronger than she is. She doubts she’ll make it out of this alive. How many times can someone face a T-Rex down and survive? Claire knows the old stories from the original park. There is nothing left on this island to take attention away from Claire. She lights the flare and there is a roar that shakes her down to the bones.

_It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt._

Soon, she thinks. Soon everything will be as it should. Everything is empty. Everything hurts. She won’t forget, she can’t forget, because the blood has soaked into her skin, her muscles, her bones. Owen’s last words ring in her ears, over and over and over. It won’t stop. She wants everything to stop, to let her sleep and forget that she’s soaked in blood that isn’t hers and no that matter how hard she scrubs, it will never come out. It will never leave her. She must leave it first.

This is the moment Claire Dearing dies.


	3. rebirth, resurrection, reincarnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Rexie chapter, whoo!

The Little Queen returns with her soft white scales healed. The red of her crest is unruly like the night before but she stands tall, teeth bared. The Little Queen is weak, but small things are hard to catch if they know how to hide, how to run, and she knows the Little Queen must be clever. Clever things are dangerous. She is not smart, not like the small clever things that spoke to the would-be queen but was not like her, but she is stronger than all others and so they bow. But the Little Queen and her subjects know how to cage them all, so she must be careful when the Little Queen runs from her roar.

Still, she follows because without a cage there is no more room on the island for two queens. Unless this is another call to war, but the island is silent and there are no strange smells. What left is there to fight? There is nothing that can stand to her might. But there is little fear in the Little Queen’s scent. Mostly it is resignation and sadness. 

She follows the flickering red light that promises _prey_ and _revenge_ and _war_. She doesn’t know which of the three she’ll find at the end of the chase, but there will be something. There will be victory.

The Little Queen doesn’t follow the small beaten down paths made by her subjects. She keeps to the thick wildness of the jungle, weaving between trees too thick to be forced through. Sometimes she hears happy noises from the Little Queen, but they smell of _sadness_ and _pain_ instead of _joy_.

Soon the air smells of death. But why? The strongest sources of death are long behind them, back near the sprawling nesting grounds for the Little Queen and her people. The leftovers will be gone soon enough once the scavengers stop fearing her scent and warily approach.

They are nearing the edge of the jungle and she prepares herself to turn. She doubts the Little Queen will enter the large clearing. There’s no place for her to hide, no place for traps or tricks. But at the edge the Little Queen trips and cries out in pain. The red light goes flying and she doesn’t know which she wants to watch more, the Little Queen weak and ready to die or the the red to see where it leads. 

But the red is so pretty, signifying _food_ and _war_ and _blood_. Landing on the grass, it rolls until it hits a rough hide. It’s prey, large prey, prey that she knows instinctively is what she should be eating instead of whatever strange, small prey the red lights promise. The corpses smell of the would-be-queen but beyond some missing bits and pieces from whatever small predators are around, not much is missing.

The Little Queen is giving her a gift. A gift that says _we-are-queens_ and _you-are-strong-but-I-am-smart_ and _I-will-provide-for-you-if-you-protect-me_. She doesn’t know what to say to this offering, but the prey won’t eat itself so she digs in as she watches the Little Queen prop herself against a tree. She clutches at her foot even as she keens in mourning, all _“I’m so sorry, I tried”_ and _“I didn’t mean to run, I wasn’t supposed to run”_ and _“Why can’t I die”_.

The Little Queen has no more subjects and no potential mates. There will be no will-be-queens with brightly colored crests and bold soft scales. She is the last of her kind and, when she dies, everything dies with her.

She is similar because she has never seen a potential mate, let alone one even worthy of her time and children. There will be no heirs.

But they could have each other. She is old, can feel the occasional aches in her bones. She’s not sure how long the Little Queen will last, but any time at all is better than being lonely. She remembers those early days, surrounded by kings and their subjects. She remembers being the only one in her cage, being the only one of her kind. It’s a lonely kind of existence.

Full, she raises her head from the carcass and makes her way to the Little Queen. She doesn’t move from her spot, shoulders shaking even as she digs her claws into the damp soil.

She drops her head so they can face each other. She huffs out a breath, stinking of blood and flesh but the Little Queen only blinks, wetness rolling down her face. Neither do anything for a while and she wonders if she Little Queen is confused, if she doesn’t understand that her offering was accepted. All she can do is wait.

The Little Queen takes a deep breath and raises her claws, so small and dull but capable of doing things she can only dream of, and presses it against her snout. The claws are warm and she is careful when she nuzzles into it. It wouldn’t do to break the Little Queen now.

The Little Queen manages to stand on her own. She makes the strange happy noises again, except this time they’re less sad. Which is nice, because she would be bored if all she could smell off of her new ally was desperation and loneliness.

It isn’t long before dull claws are scrabbling at thick scales and the Little Queen is pulling herself on top of her head. She knows how to walk slow and there’s nothing dangerous on the island so she can keep her head steady. The Little Queen will not fall. Not if she’s still.

She will leave the Little Queen at the edge of the nesting grounds. One day she will learn where the Little Queen makes her home so she can take her directly there, but until then they must go their own ways. Then she will return to her own territory to rest and in the morning they can start exploring their new kingdom together.

Together they will make sure the entire island fears both of their scents.


End file.
